Dreams of the Golden Age (Golden Age 2)
“Probably,” Anna said.
“You think he goes to Elmwood?” she asked.
“No, he’s older than that. Maybe he goes to the university.”
“So much for being careful,” Teddy grumbled.
“He would
n’t have stuck around to talk to me if he was planning on giving us away,” Anna said.
Sam looked at her in the rearview mirror. “You sure he’s a good guy?”
“I don’t think he’s a bad guy.”
“I don’t like it,” Teddy said. “Guy’s sneaky.”
“Maybe you should give him a break until we know more.”
“You think he’s hot, don’t you,” Lew said, grinning.
Teia turned to her, disrupting their precarious seating arrangement. “Is he? Hot, I mean?”
“I don’t know, he was wearing a mask. Don’t worry, if he blows our cover, I can track him down and blow his.”
Teddy craned around to look in the back. “Can you do that?”
“Sure,” she said, but she didn’t know if she could. She’d never purposefully looked for someone she’d met only once. She hadn’t even seen his face. But he’d told her his name. It was a start.
“Well, no worries, then,” Sam said.
The route took them past West Plaza first.
Anna told him, “Sam, don’t go to the front of the building, pull around back.”
They said good-byes and see you at schools, Teia leaned over to give her a hug, and she clambered out while a reorganization went on around her. From the sidewalk, she watched Sam’s sedan drive away. Teddy waved at her through the window.
* * *
The secret elevator took about twice as long to work its way back up to the penthouse than it did to glide down. Thank you, gravity. On the way up, the thing creaked, and Anna could feel each tooth of each gear catch stiffly in its sprocket as the old mechanism cranked on. She was sure she’d get stuck, but she didn’t, and finally she was in the stairwell, through the door to the real elevator, then up to the penthouse, and back home.
The only complication: Her hindbrain sense located her father in the kitchen, not the bedroom. He was waiting up for her, and the only way to sneak into the penthouse was to walk right past him. Her first option: hide somewhere. Don’t go home at all. He couldn’t wait up forever, and as soon as he gave up, she could sneak in and pretend like nothing had happened. Except that her father wouldn’t give up, and he already knew she was here, dithering. He could feel it.
Second option: walk in and face him. To do anything else would delay the inevitable. Fine, then.
She let herself in. The place was dark except for the faint circles from a couple of night-lights in the kitchen and hallway. Enough to find her way to her bedroom, and she didn’t make a sound on the carpet. But the moment she crossed the kitchen, the lights came on. Her father was standing next to the light switch. She wasn’t surprised.
“You’re out rather late,” he said, his English accent coming through strong. He did that for effect, when he wanted to intimidate. He wore a button-up shirt tucked into his trousers. He’d dressed for the occasion. Smiling wryly, he leaned against the wall.
Her heart pounded, but she forced her mind to stillness. Don’t think of anything, or if she couldn’t go blank, think of the beige carpet or green grass, anything but what was actually at the front of her mind. Shove it far back, bury it, and maybe he couldn’t see it. She certainly couldn’t let her thoughts run wild, flailing, where he could read them on the surface without even trying. She’d had a lot of practice at this but couldn’t guess how successful she was. Arthur Mentis, the Olympiad’s telepath, never let on what he did or didn’t know.
She had to assume he knew everything. But just in case he didn’t …
She hated it. She could never stop paying attention around him, which often made her want to avoid him. Which wasn’t fair. He was her dad, she didn’t want to avoid him. But she didn’t want to tell him anything, either.
Nobody else in the world had this problem.
“Hi,” she said. “Um. Can I go to bed now? I’m kind of tired.”